Accepting Joy Through Loss

*** WARNING! THIS BOOK IS SUITABLE FOR ADULTS ONLY AS IT CONTAINS SOME GRAPHIC DETAILS OF MISCARRIAGES AND TRAUMA THAT MAY NOT BE SUITABLE FOR YOUNGER READERS ***

Sometimes life can be so unbearably hard that we imagine that it must be like this for a reason. As individuals, we often focus on loss, rather than what we have gained as we have gone through life, but there is always hope.

Accepting Joy Through Loss is a book which tackles the issues of loss for one woman. Through dealing with the loss of her best friend at a young age, her father leaving the family home, multiple miscarriages and relationships which were never going to work, S.L. Phillips weaves a story of heartbreak and loss, hope and ultimate salvation.

In a tumultuous story of self-loathing and self-harming that threatened to wreck a young life and send it spiralling into a pit of despair it would never be able to emerge from again.

But with every loss there is an equivalent joy. It just needs to be recognised and nurtured so that it can take the place of the negative things and set you on the path to a happier future.

That’s what Accepting Joy Through Loss is about and that’s why you should read it now. You too, could make a real difference in your life. You have the power within you to change everything!

Copyright 2017 S.L. Phillips

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This book is a work of non-fiction. Some names and identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals.

ACCEPTING JOY THROUGH LOSS

By S.L. Phillips

DEDICATION

I dedicate this book to every human being that has ever lost life, searched for strength and eventually received joy.

My Life, My Story and My Healing

S.L. Phillips

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Author’s Biography

Lights, Action

Lights, Action

CHAPTER 1

It was approaching Christmas time. Presents to wrap, cards to write and rehearsals for our school festive production. It was my favourite time of the year. No lessons for three weeks as our teachers allowed us to watch movies, and I got to sing almost every day until the big production, which we'd been working on for almost four months. Our production would be on a Saturday, a charged event. People would pay to hear us sing.

Mariah Carey, All I Want for Christmas Is You, was our chosen song. A modern nativity play. My parents, siblings, aunties, uncles, grandparents, and almost anyone that could make it that Saturday, would be giving us a standing ovation. We sounded great and unified in harmonies, equal sets of tenors, altos and sopranos. The school hall was decorated with the finest tinsel and the tallest Christmas tree I had ever seen.

But there was a problem, we needed a lead singer who would sing in the voice of Mariah, and lead the rest of us to echo behind.

My best friend, Stephanie, was ready. This was her moment to shine. With the fullest soprano voice, I was confident that she would get the lead verse. Two minutes of everyone in awe of her talent and fluidity. She was a strong soprano.

My class mate, Diamond, also wanted to sing lead. She was established, with amazing vocals. Recognised for her vocal strength in our performing arts lessons. Everyone in school knew of Diamond.

Our hearts sank. Would Diamond be given the lead vocals? Two very strong singers. It was down to the vote among all of us in the school choir.

Hands up for Stephanie to sing the lead!

I held my best friends slight trembling hand as, in the midst of hushed and excited murmurs, hands began to rise, hesitant and not enough to secure the position of lead singer. My heart sank.

Hands up for Diamond to sing the lead!

Instantly, within the full room, hands confidently shot into the air. It was done, Diamond would lead us.

Congratulations, Stephanie told Diamond.

I knew she was disheartened, as she looked around, every face seemed assured that Diamond was the better singer to mimic Mariah Carey. Though Stephanie was proud of her and took the votes in her stride, it was a stumbling knock to her confidence. I smiled and hugged her. Stephanie walked over to the huddle of sopranos, swallowed defeat and practiced her harmonies.

***

The day was here. We all arrived early to school with little sleep the night before. Dressed in our best clothes, glitter, sparkles, tinsel, galore. One more rehearsal and we would be on our school stage.

It was perfect. Everyone stood in admiration of our voices. I looked at Stephanie and we embraced. We did it! The festive production had come to an end and our teachers had prepared a Christmas dinner for everyone to enjoy in the hall. We ate till our stomachs were bulging with food, danced till our feet were hurting, and played games till we were exhausted of running around the hall playing bulldog, musical statues and last man standing. This was the first festive production our school had produced and it was perfect.

Stephanie asked me to follow her to the toilets. She was 13 years old and her mum had just begun to allow her to do her own hair. The smell of independence was nigh. She had braided her hair with blonde hair extensions and it looked good. Stephanie had luscious flowing hair and so braiding was a challenge as her hair would always unravel. Watching her hair grow was a picture. I always wished that my hair could grow to my back, but Stephanie had help. She was of mixed heritage. Her father was Japanese and her mother was Cuban. Her upbringing was strict with no option of derailing, so independence with doing her own hair was not always the case. Her mother took pride in doing her hair. We attended a private school and so presentation was everything. She was the youngest daughter of three children and her parents put boundaries in place to keep her as their baby girl. Unlike most of us growing up in school, she was not allowed any makeup, hair extensions, nail polish, perfume, fitted clothing, sleepovers, and the list went on. We were becoming young adults but her mum still felt that bows and pretty ribbons were still age appropriate. No enhancement of beauty was ever allowed to be explored. She lived with her Brother Adam, whilst her half-sister Janelle, was living in Cuba with their grandmother. Janelle had the freedom to do as she pleased. At 13 years’ old, Stephanie was growing older and the peer pressure was increasing. I would come to school with my hair tied up in a neat bun, fake blonde highlights in my hair from the 99p hair mascara bought from the hair shop in the market, slicked down baby hair held in place with transparent hair gel (that showed no flakes of course) with green fashion contact lenses I had bought from the chemist fortnightly for a mare £10 a pack. Though we all wore the same school uniform, I made mine look quite trendy. Stephanie wanted that. To feel liberated and respected in our school, and not as a caged child.

I was so proud of her, she fought for freedom to express herself and at last she was having a small bite of it, even if it was just for our production. We were growing up; our bodies were being defined and we were becoming more and more conscious of our image along with the males of our ages that were taking extra special attention to their grooming. Finally, her parents were recognising this. We just hoped it lasted.

Mr. Tanner, who was the DJ for the day, was pumping the music, song after song with all genres included, so we ran back into the hall to join everyone dancing. Stephanie and I ran for the centre of the hall to show off our dance moves but Diamond grabbed me as we approached the centre and asked me to dance with her. Stephanie went on and danced with her class mate Vanessa. Minutes later, Stephanie swung over to us and asked me to dance with her. I declined, not because I didn’t want to but I had already started dancing with Diamond and didn’t want to be rude. Besides, this was my moment to attempt to out dance her.

Stephanie I’m so sorry but you know Diamond will be upset if I don’t dance with her.

"It’s ok, you can dance with me after. I don’t think my mum is ready to go home just yet."

Ok, I’ll dance with Diamond for a bit and then we can dance. Go and ask Mr. Tanner to play ‘Where Is the Love’ by Black Eyed Peas and I will come over and dance with you.

"Ok. Make sure though."

Diamond and I continued to dance and before we knew it, a circle of students was surrounding us jeering us on to see who could do the best moves as our parents sat around the sides of the hall, watching on. Diamond led the dance as she always did, body popping and fast foot movements that she called the Charlie Chaplin dance. I focused on her feet, 1,2,123 I counted in my head trying to get the rhythm right. The circle became a crowd, roaring with celebratory sounds, echoed by Mr. Tanner Go Diamond, Go Diamond. Everyone was clapping. Mr. Tanner began to say my name over the mic Go Samantha, Go Samantha. It was impossible for me to compete with Diamond but I did a brilliant effortless snake movement on the floor, followed by swinging my hips from left to right and shaking my head forward and backwards to the rhythm of the music, not realising that Where Is the Love was playing. I was having so much fun dancing away, not realising Stephanie was there standing within the crowd, watching on. I had promised to dance with her to that song but the day that turned to night did not go that way. The song finished and the space in the middle of the hall had cleared. Clusters regrouped of families and class mates dancing together with the odd individual dancing by the kitchen. I searched for Stephanie and found her seated near another school friend of ours.

Stephanie I’m so sorry, I…

"It’s fine don’t worry, I know you were having fun."

Look, I promise you that next year, I will dance with you for the whole evening at our next festive production, which Mrs. David said will be happening

"I’ll hold you to that you know"

Hold me to it.

5pm was approaching and it was getting late considering we had been at school from 10am that morning. Teachers were packing away chairs, sweeping up rubbish, taking the rubbish bags outside and sharing out any leftover food from the kitchen. Mr. Tanner was playing his last few tracks for the night, telling those that were still in the hall that he was finishing off in twenty minutes. Students, friends and families were saying their goodnights and giving their Merry Christmas wishes, cars were leaving and the hall was becoming empty. We only lived 30 minutes’ drive away, so we had the luxury of leaving late as mum was